


Forgery and doing what must be done.

by Kitten_Rossovich



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: AU Dragon Age - Freeform, Anora mac tir (Mentioned) - Freeform, Cailan theirin (mentioned), Canon? Teagan who is dis woman?, Emilia needs a chill pill, F/M, Family Drama, Grief/Mourning, Loghain need's a holiday, Maric need's wrapping up and cuddling, Post-stolen throne, Pre-Blight, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, criminal activity, flash backs, getting stuff done, katriel (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-25 08:37:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12527352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitten_Rossovich/pseuds/Kitten_Rossovich
Summary: Queen Rowan's death leaves a void between three friends which will impact their friendship forever. Maric drinks. Loghain thinks. And Emilia is if essentially left with all the power, which is dangerous.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NOT canon though I've tried to place my Original Characters in a canon setting to see how to dynamic would change. 
> 
> Italic = flash back.

Part 1 

 

Rowan had been dead several months. 

Her passing was not one to wish upon anyone. It may not have been violent or agonising in a physically painful sense, but it had been hard for those around her to watch as a once fearsome warrior and big-hearted queen and, more importantly, mother, wasted away, leaving only a shell. 

If Loghain thought back hard enough, he could see that it was long coming. The warning signs had been there but had gone undetected. From the severe sickness she’d suffered during the major portion of her pregnancy with Cailan, to her loss of strength and inability to recover fully afterward. Oh yes. It was clear in Hindsight. 

Oh, but Hindsight was a wonderful thing. 

Thankfully, she’d not died alone or in discomfort. In those final days, she’d not been there. Physically, she’d been there of course. In the royal bed, her limbs withered and her skin a sickly grey. But Mentally, Rowan was long gone. She’d not responded to anything in days as her eyesight and hearing failed her and her will to fight slipped away. 

Emilia had laid in the bed with her the night she’d passed. Maric had tried to remain in the room but had become so distressed, Loghain had led him away, into the parlour to wait for the inevitable

Marigold had crept from room to room, her steps quiet on the stone floor. She’d been a ghostly presence in the darkened royal chambers as she kept watch on them all.  
Around dawn she’d entered Maric and Rowan’s rooms and the two men sat in the parlour with Mother Ailis, had heard the pained sobbing coming from within. A short time after, Marigold had steered Emilia from the room, the younger woman clearly anguished. This unusual loss of control from Em had been enough to unnerve Loghain and Maric, already barely holding himself together, had lost it. He’d slid from his chair beside the dying fire and cried pitifully as Ailis knelt to console him. 

The state pyre had been held two days later and national mourning was on show for all of Thedas to behold. 

Loghain had helped carry Rowan to her pyre from the chantry alongside her younger brother Eamon, Bryce Cousland and Marigold. Emilia had walked with Maric, both looking haggard, but Maric more so.

Loghain, himself, had felt the aching loss of Rowan’s death. How could he not? He’d once held feelings for the woman who was to become Queen of the country he held so dear and he was sure marrying Emilia had been his only deterrent from doing something that could have ruined that, and his friendship with Maric. 

That hadn’t stopped him caring however and even if he didn’t break down in front of everyone in Denerim as Maric had done when it had come time to light Rowan’s pyre, it didn’t stop his own quiet tears to Emilia and Maric later that night as the three of them held each other in Loghain and Emilia’s bed. 

That had been months ago by then and life had to go on, or so Emilia kept saying. 

Within a week of her cousin’s death, Emilia appeared to have grown armoured skin and had shaken off the grief that had engulfed the palace of Denerim. 

By contrast, Maric was more miserable than ever. As the pyre of his wife lay smouldering, Maric had gone back to the palace and locked himself in his room, curling up under the covers of his bed and cried. 

He stayed there the rest of the day and most of the next and probably would have remained there forever more had Emilia not picked the lock on his door and she and Loghain had dragged him out to take him home with them to Gwaren house. 

He’d stayed with them there for a month, practically stuck to Loghain and even sleeping in the bed with him and Emilia. 

That had been their way of healing and though the group would never be complete again, Emilia, Loghain and Maric had drawn closer together in an effort to close the gaping void left behind. 

That was until royal duties called. The King may still have been in mourning, but the kingdom had returned to it’s usual, demanding self. 

While gently nudging him, Loghain and Emilia had taken on as much of Maric’s duties as they possibly could. 

With his friend’s rallying around him and Emilia encouraging regular time with his son, at first, Maric seemed to be coming around to something resembling functional.  
All that had come undone when the first foreign dignitary to arrive in the country since the Queen’s death joined them for a formal dinner one night. 

There wasn’t an exact moment Loghain could pinpoint that turned the dinner bad. The palace was still heavy with grief at the time and even with Emilia’s efforts to try and ease the almost suffocating atmosphere, that night had been, for want of a better word, a disaster. 

Maric had tried. They could give him that much. He wasn’t quite back to his normal talkative self, but he had given it a good go. It wasn’t his fault this particular Markham ambassador had been in such a foul mood. 

He’d done nothing but whinge since arriving. He grumbled about his journey. He’d whined about his lack of proper greeting when he’d finally arrived. He was petulant about the rooms he’d been given and even when he’d been rehoused, still nothing was right. Marigold and Em had fielded him as best they could, which was quite adequate but during dinner he’d been insufferable. And it was obvious to all that King Maric was struggling. 

He wilted in the light of the Ambassador’s complaints. And there were plenty. The Teyrn and Teyrna of Gwaren did their best to shield him. Loghain could feel his blood beginning to boil early on and Em was very tense beside him. 

Maric’s eyes darted to him and then to Emilia for help several times but their interference was quickly noted by the Markham man and he began to sneer at them as they tried to protect their fragile King. 

It had been painful. Eventually Maric had withdrawn entirely under the barrage of negativity the Ambassador unleashed. Loghain could seem Maric trying to sink into his seat, his food untouched and his face becoming pale. He hadn’t been ready. Emilia had assured him this visit would be a nice, easy way for him to get back into his work, but it had gone horribly wrong. Maric wasn’t himself and Rowan wasn’t there to hold his hand. Loghain and Emilia could only do so much. 

Em called an end to the dinner early and Maric slipped away before Loghain could grab him. Marigold escorted the Ambassador, now complaining about the King’s early departure, back to his residence. Loghain later learned the Ambassador fell afoul of some “thugs” and was beaten horribly, returning to Markham with two broken arms and a ruptured stomach. 

Marigold relayed the news with a relaxed, but very satisfied smile. 

Maric relapsed. No words, good or bad, could get him to budge after that. He began to drink excessively. Loghain sat watching him from the other wing backed chair in the royal chambers night after night as Maric swayed between drunkenly jabbering, drink fuelled verbal-diarrhea to crying and silently brooding for hours on end. 

It hadn’t improved months later despite their best efforts and time was beginning to press down on them. The Landsmeet was on the horizon. 

The Landsmeet had only been held a handful of times since Maric took the throne. The first had been, well, it had been more of a large meet and greet for old friends and rivals alike after the war. Redcliffe was still under Orlesian control and Eamon Guerrin had sent a message apologizing for his absence and requesting a handful of soldiers to help with a final push to take the castle. 

Emilia had wanted to go, but Loghain had put his foot down. She’d not long had their daughter and even if she’d gotten straight back into the war after having Drake, Loghain was determined to keep her from doing something stupid when they were so close to totally regaining control. 

There were daily attacks off the coast too, Orlesian ships daring to take on the raider ships led by Bann Mac Eanraig. These attacks were fended off well enough, even if their most efficient raider, Bann Mac Eanraig’s daughter Eleanor, had been forced to pull out of the fighting, first to marry Bryce Cousland and after that, when she’d fallen pregnant.

Essentially, no one had been settled long enough for any of the nobles to really have any complaints. Many were no readier to take their positions as Maric had been to take the throne. In the camps, they’d all had titles. Oh yes, titles were plentiful in the muddy, bloodstained rebel camps. But then they’d been given their rightful lands and all those lofty nobles had no idea what to do with them and the people who resided in them. 

The first landsmeet was quite laid back. 

Many nobles had married or had children. Loghain and Em had had Anora while still trying to rebuild Gwaren and were living with her and Drake, then three, in one finished room of the keep.

Maric had called it a progress update and had laughed. 

The years since were not as calm. The squabbles soon began over land boundaries and entitlements. 

That year would be no different and Maric wasn’t fit to rule. 

The king’s lack of will began to cause problems outside his political spectrum. Loghain and Emilia had begun to fight. At first, they’d both been tired, upset and a little stressed but there was hope Maric would step up again relatively soon and the pressure would ease. But after his relapse, their arguments got worse. 

Emilia, whose temper was almost legendarily short, lost the last of her patience. She would snarl that Maric was weak and Loghain was allowing him to be. 

Loghain would snarl back, naturally. He’d tried as hard as her to get Maric moving again. He was just as lost as she was with it all. But He’d sat with Maric night after night. He’d listened to his friend’s fears and concerns, blurted out in drunken abandon. He was just as disappointed as Em and hated the allegation that he was allowing Maric to get away with shirking his duties. 

One night, in the heat of the moment, he’d told her she was cold. That she was cold and unfeeling, not understanding that maybe Maric needed more time. 

As soon as he’d said it, he knew he’d made a mistake. Something passed through Emilia’s eyes, the rage dissipating, only to be replaced by shock and then sadness. 

Rowan had told her the same thing the night Katriel had died at Maric’s hand. The argument the two women had had shattered their good natured, if somewhat cool, friendship. Rowan had been the angriest Loghain had ever seen her. And Emilia, Emilia had been so cold. Mercilessly so. 

_“She needed to die.” Emilia had said, her voice low in the dark room. Her face betrayed nothing, totally passive in the fury of her cousin._

_“No, she didn’t!” Rowan had ground out, her fists trembling with the force of her emotions. “you said she needed to die. You did. And he…” Rowan pointed to Loghain, his back pressed against the wall across from them as they fought. “He listened to you. Because you’ve manipulated him so thoroughly he’ll do anything you tell him now!”_

_“Maric’s a fool.” Emilia replied, the moonlight catching her green eyes in the most sinister way. “He’d have put her on the throne in your place.”_

_“He loved her!” Rowan cried. “She loved him!”_

_“He lusted for her.” Em cut across her. “And she was doing her job. Fools are dangerous, Rowan. Fools blinded by lust and love are the most dangerous. The girl knew that and used it. Props to her. I’d have done the same.”_

_The horror that crossed Rowan’s face was enough to make Loghain’s stomach lurch. She stared at her cousin stood before her. Had the moon not been full and peering through the window at them, Emilia may well have been invisible in the darkness, dressed in her blackened armour and cowl. Her eyes showed no emotion. They were cold. Calculating. Just as they’d been when she’d spoken with Rowan and Loghain in the dilapidated chantry down by the Gwaren docks to tell them of the elf’s betrayal at White river and that she’d journeyed to Denerim days before when Marigold had followed her._

_Emilia had made up her mind then, that Katriel needed to die, regardless of her change of mind. Rowan had disagreed of course. If Katriel was repentant, if there was truly a bounty on her head by then, then Maric’s lover should live and they should be happy together._

_Both women knew Maric would make the elf his Queen. Rowan had come to terms with that fact in the deep roads and had turned to Loghain for comfort._

_Emilia was not content however. That was not what she’d returned to Ferelden to let happen._

_Loghain wasn’t entirely sure how to feel. The woman was a bard. She could have killed Maric. She could get Maric killed. But Emilia had known or at least suspected such and had not said, not even to him. That had hurt. And he’d been angry with her for it._

_It was decided Loghain would be the one to tell Maric the truth. He’d tell his best friend what he’d allowed into his bed and what had to happen now._

_Rowan had had full faith in him. She’d thought he’d tell Maric all of it. Tell him what Katriel was or had been. That she’d changed her loyalties and she was now wanted by the Orlesians for joining the rebels. Her eyes had been so sad when she looked at him, but there was hope there. She’d be free from the marriage arranged for her by her parents and Maric’s and she’d get on with winning the war and building a life afterward._

_Perhaps Emilia thought he’d tell Maric the truth too. Perhaps that was why she cornered him in the dead of night, using the wiles she’d used right from their first meeting to charm him, satisfy him and then make him hungry for more. It made him pliant to her hands._

_She wore him out. Wore him down. Caressed him until he pawed at her for more and then cradled him as he trembled with aftershocks. It brought his guard down completely and she knew it._

_She whispered ideas into his ear, putting down poison in between words of devotion she knew he craved to hear spoken from her lips._

_Emilia was a force to be reckoned with and Rowan had been no match._

_Ultimately Loghain had given Emilia’s suggested tale to Maric, leaving out that which would have threatened Rowan’s place at Maric’s side._

_Rowan was right. He’d allowed Emilia to manipulate him with words and sex and it made him feel sick._

_“There’s something very wrong with you.” Rowan whispered incredulously. “Very wrong indeed. You’re so cold. So..So evil. That’s the only word I can think to describe you right now.”_

_“I did this for you.” Emilia ground out through gritted teeth. Evidently Rowan had hit a nerve somewhere._

_“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare use me as your scapegoat, Emilia.” Rowan nearly gagged, slowly backing away from the other woman. “You did this because you’re merciless. You did this because You’re unfeeling. You don’t care about Maric. You did this because you think this is the right thing to do!”_

_“And putting an elf on the throne of Ferelden is?” Emilia’s voice rose for the first time that entire conversation. “That throne is yours Rowan. I’m fighting this war for you. Maric’s the moron that will put you there or tear it away from you and that’s exactly what he was about to do!”_

_“I can’t hear anymore!” Rowan turned away, desperate to leave the room. “I won’t hear anymore. You’re dangerous Emilia, even to us. You have some sort of complex that will turn against anyone you deem in your way.”_

_Rowan paused with her hand on the door handle. Her eyes met Loghain’s reluctant ones. He’d betrayed her trust in favour of Emilia’s will._

_“You want to be careful, Loghain. My cousin’s dangerous to you too. She’s far too cunning. She’d turn on you too, faithful fool or not. She’d see you dead too if she felt it necessary.”_

_With that last warning, she left the room, no doubt to find and comfort Maric._

_The silence was deafening. Loghain continued to stare at the space Rowan had left, his eyes refusing to seek out Emilia, watching him in the darkness._

_“Loghain.”_

_Her voice was achingly soft. It was the same voice she’d used the night before to beckon him to her. The same voice that had sang so sweetly as he took her._

_His back tensed instinctively. He needed to get out of the room._

_He made a break for it, his feet taking him toward the door before he could even process what he was doing._

_“Loghain, please…”_

_The lump in his throat was growing and it simply wouldn’t be swallowed. He was beginning to choke. He needed air._

_He clutched the door handle and tried to turn it with all his might but the pain in his chest was too much. He needed air. He needed a wash. He felt used and dirty._

_“I thought you’d understand…” Was the last thing he heard as he wrenched the door open and left the room at a fast clip._


	2. part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have at it. I'm sick but I wanted to finish. so it's probably a mess but it's done *bows out*

The landsmeet began, the throne at the head of the Royal chamber vacant.

Maric’s absence was glaringly noticeable and when Loghain took over the official opening speech in the King’s place, more than a few suspicious looks were exchanged between the nobility. 

In his room, Maric drank and alternated between spending his days in bed and sat in the wing backed chair by the hearth. Emilia insured meals were regularly taken into his rooms, her frustration only mounting when they came out hours later untouched. 

Cailan spent his days in the nursery with Anora and Drake. He wasn’t crying as much by then but the gloom that still lurked throughout the palace still lingered around the child. Marigold made it a point to take the three children out of the palace during the day time hours while the adults attended to the Landsmeet, often joined by Bryce Cousland’s little lad and his nan. 

They spent time exploring the city and rode out to dragon’s peak once to play in the fields and have a picnic. These adventures were encouraged by Emilia but Loghain was left in the dark as much as possible. Between Maric’s morose mood, the day to day running of the country and his Teyrnir of Gwaren and, more immediately, the dozens of men and women with their petty arguments who swarmed into the Palace’s main chamber every morning, Loghain was not in any sort of mood to entertain the idea of the crown prince being taken out of the safety of the royal nursery, accompanied by Marigold or not.

As expected, the atmosphere in the Mac Tir household was not any better. Loghain and Emilia barely spoke most of the time, both wrapped up in work or trying to give the illusion that all was well to the outside world. 

When they did speak however, it usually turned into a shouting match. They tried hard not to do it in front of the children. Anora was particularly sensitive to the unrest between her parents and had begun to withdraw more than usual. Drake would remain quiet and watch from between the stair bannisters when he should have been sleeping late at night, his Mabari, Hyrum, sat beside him for comfort. 

Emilia was determined to drag Maric out of his stupor one way or the other but Loghain was constantly standing in the way.

Ever the protector. 

The final straw came the day a new influx of paperwork arrived for the king. Trade agreements. shipping documentation. Financial documents. Documents that could make or break business and coalitions with other lands. Maric’s desk in his study was already flooded with papers that should have been signed months ago. 

The ministers and advisers in the Theirin employ had done would they could to stem the flow and fill out contracts as best they could, but many needed the King’s signature and seal to finalise them. 

Emilia thought it the perfect way to get Maric working again. It wasn’t particularly stressful. She wasn’t asking him to address the Landsmeet or speak with delegates. He just needed to sign and stamp the papers as they were handed to him. The papers and the contents had already been poured over by the legal advisers, adding and taking away aspects within the contracts that either didn’t suit or benefited Ferelden. 

Maric didn’t need to worry about a thing. 

Arl Ruahn had just begun stating his case as to why his recent tax hikes were not unreasonable when a steward approached Emilia’s seat and bent to whisper in her ear.  
Loghain had been left with Maric to oversee his productivity. It was a simple task. Or it should have been. 

“Bryce?” Emilia leaned over Loghain’s empty seat and called quietly across the seat that should have been occupied by Maric to Teyrn Cousland sat the other side. Bryce Cousland turned to look at her quickly and leaned more to whisper. 

“Yes?” 

“Would you mind awfully if I left for a moment? There’s something I need to attend to.” 

Bryce glanced to Arl Ruahn and then back to Emilia before shaking his head. 

“No, I don’t mind at all.” 

Emilia nodded to him and stood, excusing herself without a word to stalk after the steward. 

She was led to Maric’s rooms and the steward stood aside as the Teyrna threw the door open without knocking and entered. 

To his credit, Maric had moved and his seat beside the fire was empty. The door to his study was open and Emilia peered round the doorframe to find him sat behind the desk, staring vacantly at the stacks of paper. 

Loghain stood over him and he could have only looked more fearsome if he’d been wielding a large stick. 

“What’s the matter now?” Emilia snapped. She could already tell what was the matter from the bottle in Maric’s hand. The hand that should have been holding a quill. 

“There’s no way he’s going to be able to sign anything.” Loghain growled through gritted teeth. “Not like this.” 

“Surely he couldn’t have been like this when he got in here?” Em accused. Loghain’s eyes left the spot they had been glaring at on Maric’s bowed head and flashed angrily at Emilia. 

“I had to _drag_ him in here.” 

Inhaling deeply, eyes closed, Emilia resisted the urge to drag her hand over her face. Of course he’d had to drag him into the study. Maric’s diet had consisted of nothing but spirits for days by then. 

She crossed the room swiftly and rounded the desk. Loghain stepped back, allowing her past and Emilia gripped the arms of Maric’s chair before wrenching it round from the desk to face her. 

The motion seemed to spook Maric out of his drunken snooze and he looked up at her in alarm, eyes blood shot and bruised. His golden hair was lank and unkept but mercifully, he’d been shaved. No doubt Loghain had brought in the barber to at least keep Maric’s sometimes unruly facial hair tamed. 

“Do you have any comprehension of the havoc you are causing?” She asked flatly, leaning right into his face. Maric’s mouth flapped open and Em could see his eyes working to focus on her face in the near proximity. 

When he didn’t answer, she continued. 

“Allow me to tell you, Maric. Allow me to inform you of what you are doing to us. To this country. To your people and most importantly, your son.” She began, her voice low but her words sharp. “Currently, every noble in Ferelden is sat below us, every single one of them wondering if you’ve given up the ghost and gone to seed. I can assure you Maric, that’s a desperately depressing thought considering what near enough everyone gave up getting your arse on that throne.” 

Maric swallowed thickly and for just a moment it appeared as if he’d speak. That moment passed, and the King remained silent. 

“Loghain and I can barely stand each other right now. We’re treading on each other’s toes trying to decide what’s best for you, Cailan and Ferelden. You probably won’t be surprised to learn that we both have very different ideas. That, in turn, is affecting my children. _My children,_ Maric. We’re hurting them by proxy and, Maker help me, you are incredibly lucky I made a promise to Rowan that I’d look after you and Cailan, otherwise I’d have done something unforgiveable to you for that.” 

“Em…” Maric finally croaked. Emilia ignored him, her eyes narrowing. 

“Believe it or not, Maric, but I do understand. I miss Rowan too. I wish she was here too. But this isn’t a contest. No one misses her any more or less than you, or me, or Cailan, who by the way, has every right to mope and cry and be miserable. Rowan was his mother. _Is_ his mother, Maric. And you are his father.” 

Her hands tightened their grip on his arm rests. 

“You’re damaging him the most, Maric. That boy needs his father. He is your privilege, Maric. That is the privilege Rowan didn’t get time to enjoy and that’s the most heart-breaking thing about this situation. How _dare_ you squander that!” 

Pushing off the arm rest, Emilia stood straight over Maric, glaring down at him then. 

“Now you’re informed.” She told him. “Now you are no longer ignorant to what your behaviour is doing to those around you.” Her eyes left his face and landed on the parchment stretched out on the desk, ready and waiting to be signed. 

“Are you going to sign that and make everyone’s lives easier?” 

Maric’s tongue slithered out to wet his chapped lips and his eyes followed the same path Emilia’s had taken to the parchment. Shakily, he set the bottle beside it and then gingerly lifted the paper from the desk to look at it. Whether his eyes were focusing on it or not, Emilia had no idea, but he made a show of trying to read it. 

“Em…I-I can’t…” 

“You can’t, or you won’t? She snapped back immediately. 

“I doubt he can even see straight.” Loghain snorted from beside Emilia. She’d almost forgotten he was there. “How in adraste’s name is he meant to sign them?” 

Skin prickling with irritation, Emilia snatched the parchment from Maric’s hands. 

“You may as well go to bed and stay there Maric. You’re of absolutely no use to anyone.” 

Perhaps it was harsh, and the thought momentarily passed through Em’s mind as she watched Maric deflate somewhat, but it was the truth. He was no good to them while he was so inebriated. The papers would be void if he were to make a mess of them and even the Maker couldn’t help them if that happened. It would mean months of renegotiation and she doubted the other parties would be so forthcoming a second-time round. 

Slamming the parchment back down on a pile to her right, Emilia heaved said pile into her arms. 

“Before I go, Maric, and you curl up in your bedding and hide away once more, I want you to know something. I want you to know Rowan would be horrified if she knew you were abusing her memory in such a manner. She fought with us, for you. To make sure you’d take the throne and free us all. She had more confidence in you then I’ve ever had, or probably ever will…” 

With that, Emilia turned and left the room with a stack of parchment almost as tall as she was. 

Hours later, after court had ended and the palace had grown quiet with the encroaching fall of darkness, Loghain crept from Maric’s rooms to change out of his armour and find some food. 

The whole experience was beginning to weigh heavy on him, much like it had when he’d first become embroiled with the young prince he’d found in the woods. 

It had been some years since Loghain had last thought that maybe, just maybe, Maric was more trouble than he was worth. But as he walked the halls of the palace, occasionally passing a guard on patrol or a servant scurrying to finish up that night’s work, he began to wonder if Maric had really given up for real. 

It was a kick in the gut to even consider it. He’d believed so firmly once that Maric could be the King needed, that he’d committed acts in his name that left a bad taste in his mouth to think about, even then. He’d had to remind himself that by doing such things, he’d put Maric in his rightful place and freed their land from tyranny. 

That had been enough to pacify him for a long time. But now, it was as if Maric wasn’t trying anymore. The drive had gone. He didn’t care. Why had they fought for him when he clearly didn’t care enough to keep going, even in hard times? 

He was deep in thought as he walked, almost missing the light that crept from under his own study’s door. This stopped him mid step. If he wasn’t in his study, no one should have been. 

Anger shot a bolt of adrenaline straight through him, his heart doubling its pace at the thought that someone was rifling through his things. 

Drawing his blade, his vision narrowing on the door, Loghain propelled himself forward and flung the door open with more force than needed. 

Marigold sprang out of the seat in front of the desk and turned to face him, her dagger out. She was bootless and only dressed in her tunic and leather breeches, her fiery tresses loose down her back.  
Emilia was equally as startled, sat behind the desk in Loghain’s seat. 

The stack of papers Em had taken from Maric’s study sat divided on Loghain’s desk, one stack taller than the other. Emilia had obviously been hunched over a piece of parchment in front of her, the quill poised and ready. 

The adrenaline left Loghain’s body as if it had been sapped out through his feet and he simply stood there for a long moment, looking between the two women. 

“It’s only the farm boy.” Marigold eventually huffed and lowered herself back down into her seat. 

“What are you doing in here this late? Why aren’t you at home with the children?” 

Emilia answered him with a cock of her eyebrow and then returned to signing the paper with a flourish of her hand. 

“Drake and Anora are staying with the Cousland’s tonight. Eleanor has put on a little sleepover for Fergus, so I can continue working.” She finally said and picked up a lump of golden coloured wax and a seal. She heated the wax over the nearby candle before dropping it onto the parchment and then placing the seal into it, leaving it there for a moment to set. 

Loghain watched all this, a little perplexed. 

“Why are you in my study and not your own?” 

“Put your sword away dear.” Em replied. “It’s drooping.” 

Marigold didn’t try to hide her laugh, something which irritated Loghain more then he’d admit while he put his sword back into its sheath. He then stepped further into the room, closing the door behind himself. 

“I’m in your study because your study has easier access to Maric’s than mine does.” Emilia told him, removing the seal from the wax and then placing the parchment on the pile to her right. She reached for another from the left pile and set it in front of her, dipping the quill into the ink and carefully wiping off the excess on the side of the inkwell. 

“Maric’s?” Loghain murmured, more to himself then her and then his eyes began searching the paper in front of his wife. 

Even upside down there were certain phrases he managed to make out that instantly alarmed him. Emilia was already signing the bottom of the paper with the same flourish as before and then began heating the wax again. 

It suddenly became very clear who’s signature she was signing and who’s seal that was. 

She sealed the paper just as she had the other one and then set it aside. She was just reaching for another when Loghain spluttered in horror. 

“This is treason!” 

Marigold and Em both paused to stare at him, neither woman really showing any sign of surprise. 

“And your point is…?” Marigold asked in her thick Starkhaven accent. 

“Loghain, these documents have a deadline. These particular papers have a deadline of tomorrow. They require the King’s signature and seal and so, the King is signing and sealing them.” 

“The _King_. Meaning _Maric_.” Loghain snarled. 

“Maric is a _wreck_.” Emilia hissed back. “He wouldn’t even be able to dip his quill, let alone write his name. If these documents are not signed, Ferelden will go to Hell in a handcart. Trade will stop. Supplies will not come in when needed and all our hard work to set this country on its feet will be undone. All because it’s King can’t pull his shit together.” 

“So, you’d forge his signature and risk hanging for it?” Loghain could feel his heart beating in his temples as he watched Emilia sign the parchment without a second thought. 

“Yes.” 

She looked back up at him so casually, she might have been writing out that week’s shopping list to replenish the pantries. 

“If you have a problem with me keeping this country from collapsing in on itself, then by all means husband, arrest me.” 

That coldness had returned to her eyes, even if her face was perfectly pleasant. Loghain stood rooted to the spot, appalled and strangely relieved in equal amounts. It was an odd sensation and did nothing to settle his stomach.  
He knew she knew he’d never arrest her, though it was his moral duty to do so. He could see the necessity in what she was doing. Forgery it might be, but Maric wouldn’t blame her, when he eventually came around. So how could he? 

“I can’t see this.” He finally said and turned on his heel to leave. 

Emilia’s eyes dropped from him and she picked up her quill again. 

“I’ll see you later darling.” She called after him as he left the room. 

 

-oOo- 

Loghain held his breath as the papers were handed over the next morning. If the slightest hint of forgery was noted, they’d be in more trouble than if they’d have left the documents unsigned. Emilia smiled demurely beside him as she chatted casually with the chancellor. 

He had to give it to her. She showed absolutely no hint of concern. It was rather impressive had it not been so horribly conflicting for him. 

Emilia bid the chancellor a good day and left his office, Loghain trailing after her. No sooner had the door swung shut, the invitingly open smile dropped from Emilia’s face and returned to her usual contemptuous expression. It was an expression Loghain had once overheard Marigold appropriately call Emilia’s ‘resting bitch face’. He’d not really understood what the other woman had meant at the time, but years of daily interaction with his wife had taught him that the cynical expression Emilia wore was not as intentional as many believed, but rather it was just the way her face relaxed. 

“There.” She said finally. They’d walked some distance down the corridor by then and Emilia’s eyes had scanned all around them before she spoke. “It’s all over, quick and painlessly.” 

“It won’t be so painless if he notices that’s not Maric’s hand.” Loghain grumbled lowly from beside her. 

The look his wife shot him, he knew, was meant to be as angry as it seemed. 

“He won’t notice.” She hissed.

“You have such confidence in your falsification…” 

“I do.” She spat and halted in her path to spin and face him. They were the only ones in the hall, but Loghain’s hackles rose at the idea of talking about this in such an open place. 

“It will go unquestioned, Loghain.” 

“You seem so sure.” He growled through gritted teeth as he leaned in to keep his voice just between them. “You do realise you’re talking about trying to hoodwink a man who has handled Maric’s affairs since he took the throne, don’t you? He knows Maric’s signature back to front.” 

Emilia did not shy away from her husband’s angry advance. Instead, she moved closer, tilting her head up to meet his face. Loghain had the height advantage over Em at 6’3 to her 5’4 but that meant nothing when her anger flared. If anything, the advantage in the fight often went to her. Loghain was constantly on guard in case she went for the low blow. 

“I’m not _trying_ anything. The man _will_ accept it as Maric’s signature and that’s the end of it.” She growled back. “If it’s a little off, who can blame him? He’s not in the best shape right now. No one will question it.”

Em was unprepared when Loghain suddenly grabbed her upper arms and used his body to force her backward into the wall. He held her there, even after she’d recovered and began trying to force him away. 

“How can you do this?” He hissed, the little vain on his forehead pulsing through the skin. If Em hadn’t been so irritated with him, she might have worried about his blood pressure. 

“It’s easy husband.” She bit back, unable to control the sarcasm that dripped from her tongue. “You find something with Maric’s actual handwriting on it and after a few tries…!” 

“That’s not what I meant!” He snarled, shaking her a little. “Don’t play games Emilia, this isn’t funny!” 

“Let go!” She ground out, trying to squirm free of his iron grip. 

“Not until you tell me why you are risking everything. Not until you explain why you feel you need to be so reckless when you have so much to lose!” 

“You’re hurting me!” She shrieked. 

It was if he’d been hit with a bolt of lightning. Instantly, Loghain released her and backed right away to the other side of the corridor. He felt icy sweat begin to creep down the back of his neck and all the tension went from his hands. 

Em had slumped against the wall opposite him, looking flustered and unusually ruffled. 

The two stood staring at each other for a long time, the blood pounding in their ears. 

Loghain wondered if Emilia could feel the same disgust he felt at that moment as his mind whirled with everything that had led them to that very position. He watched her, shame clutching his heart just that little bit tighter with every beat while Em tried to right herself, running her hand through her long black locks while the other absently brushed over the bodice of her blood coloured dress. 

She ran her tongue over her lips before pushing herself off the wall and standing straight. She didn’t immediately look at him, but when she did, he could see the guarded look in her eyes. 

“This was done for the good of Ferelden, Loghain. I thought you’d understand…” 

And like that, she’d gone. She stalked off down the corridor to continue with her day and Loghain stood, rooted to the spot, unable to shake the urge to beat his fists against the wall at his back.


End file.
